


I Had A Marvelous Time Ruining Everything

by fallendarlings



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Captain America: The First Avenger, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Gay yearning, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Irish Steve, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve is a moron, Tenderness, War Era, World War II, bucky is kind of an asshole but he means well, its ok he's a himbo, post torture comfort, russian bucky, this is dedicated to folklore by taylor swift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25537972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallendarlings/pseuds/fallendarlings
Summary: “I’m not worth all that. Not worth your life.”“You’re worth everything to me.” And there it is, the secret truth. There’s no way to interpret it as anything but what it is. Steve’s heart, held out in his hands. The one that didn’t work right, ugly all over from damage. The one that was Bucky’s first, has always been Bucky’s. They say his new one is perfect, but he knows the truth. Even if they fixed everything else, they can’t fix this. Every inch of his heart, scarred with Bucky’s name. Over and over and over.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 27
Kudos: 193





	I Had A Marvelous Time Ruining Everything

**Author's Note:**

> so i've been struggling with writers block on my main wip for like two weeks now but i had a sudden idea and a burst of creativity and ended up with this in like... three hours?? so that's something, i guess. 
> 
> title taken from the last great american dynasty by taylor swift. stream folklore for clear skin!

The first thing Bucky says to Steve- after the long march back to base, after the medical exams and the debriefings and the chaos- when they finally get a moment alone is, “I don’t want you here.”

Steve keeps his eyes down, folding his uniform up like his hands aren’t shaking, like Bucky’s words don’t sting something deep _deep_ inside his chest. “I know,” he says softly. Of course he knows. It’s Bucky. Bucky, who pitched a fit every time Steve even hinted at trying to enlist. Bucky, who griped at him every time he so much as skinned his knees. Bucky, who thinks it’s his job to keep Steve safe from everything, like he can ensure Steve’s long and happy life by sheer willpower alone. But Steve doesn’t care about being safe, not when that life doesn’t include Bucky standing right beside him. There was a moment, in that awful isolation ward, when he’d touched the side of Bucky’s face and said, ‘ _I thought you were dead’_. He had. The cold terror had driven him to go rogue, to jump out of a plane and bust into that base with no clue what he was doing, not really. He knows Bucky doesn’t want him here. “It’s not like I can just go home now.” He looks up, finally. Finds Bucky pacing a groove in the ground of the tent, fingers laced on the back of his neck. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, bitter and sharp. “You can’t go home. Now you’re stuck. I did everything I could to make sure you wouldn’t have to be here and what do you do? Show up anyway. And you’re not just another soldier; _fuck_ , Steve. You think they’ll ever let you go home, even when the war is over? You signed your life over to them and for what!”

“You.” All he can offer is the truth, quiet and condemning, even if he doesn’t say _why_. “To be here, with you. You’d still be in that factory without me, you know. So even if they make me fight for them until the day I die, I don’t care. At least I’ll go out knowing you didn’t die on that godawful table.”

Bucky stills, staring at him in the semi darkness, muscle in his jaw ticking. Before it happens, Steve knows what’s coming. Knows that he’s pushed just far enough to get Bucky right on the edge of snapping. 

When he sucks in a breath and opens his mouth, Steve cuts him off before he can yell, “This tent is too damn thin for that.”

Blue eyes flash, hot with anger, with desperation, frustration. “You make me so,” Bucky hisses, fisting his hands at his sides. And isn’t that just it. They shouldn’t work, shouldn’t have kept a friendship this long, because they drive each other absolutely crazy. Steve’s recklessness clashes against Bucky’s protective streak and round and round they go. 

Steve loves every fucking minute of it. He _loves_ when Bucky gets mad like this, the heady rush of a fight about to start. There’s not a single other person on earth he can argue with like Bucky and know that at the end of the day, they’ll be just fine. Bucky will cuss him out the likes of which would make a sailor blush one minute and the next he’ll be back to fussing over Steve like a concerned mother. And he shouldn't, he _shouldn’t_ crave his attention like that, but he does. Steve wants Bucky’s attention all the time, wants to be the only one he’s looking at. Even if it means they’re fighting like tomcats. At least in those moments he has him entirely. “You could at least thank me for saving your life, you know.” He schools his face into a solemn mask, knowing his words will tip Bucky right over the edge. 

“You bastard, I _hate_ you,” Bucky snaps, on him in a second. His fingers fist in the front of Steve’s undershirt, pushing him back. There’s no wall to slam against and Steve isn’t surprised when he gets shoved down on the cot. He goes, even though he’s stronger now and could resist if he wanted to. He doesn’t want to. He _is_ surprised when Bucky straddles him, knees on either side of Steve’s thighs, fingers still twisted tight in his shirt. Right in his face, silent fury in the hard lines pulling his mouth into a frown. But in his eyes, aching desperation, sadness. “You were supposed to be _home. Safe_. I could deal with the ugliness of the war if I knew you weren’t in it somewhere. And what do you fucking do?”

“Follow you,” Steve breathes. His fingers flex, wanting to touch. To trace his hands up Bucky’s sides and cup his face. To smooth away the anger and the fear and replace it with… what? “And you can hate that _and me_ if you want to, but I’m not sorry. I’ll never say I’m sorry.”

“I’m not worth all that. Not worth your life.”

“You’re worth everything to me.” And there it is, the secret truth. There’s no way to interpret it as anything but what it is. Steve’s heart, held out in his hands. The one that didn’t work right, ugly all over from damage. The one that was Bucky’s first, has always been Bucky’s. They say his new one is perfect, but he knows the truth. Even if they fixed everything else, they can’t fix this. Every inch of his heart, scarred with Bucky’s name. Over and over and over. 

Bucky’s barely breathing. Shallow rise and fall of his chest, just barely brushing against Steve’s and they’re so _close._ “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” 

“You _don’t_.”

“God _damn it_ , Bucky. _I do_.” Now, Steve touches. His hands fly up, one on each side of Bucky’s dirty neck. There hasn’t been a chance to truly bathe in so long and there’s so much mud here, you can never get it all off. When they get back to London, then maybe…. He licks his lips, takes a breath. Every time these words have been on the tip of his tongue, every time he shoved them down, afraid of ruining everything. They all led to this moment, right here. There’s no time left to be scared. He’d already thought he lost Bucky once, thought for one awful moment that he was dead on that table, before he’d heard the mumbled words. They could both die tomorrow. And if it ruins everything, at least he’s tried. At least when they die, there won’t be bitter secrets haunting them forever. “I won’t lie to you and say I don’t care if you hate me for this. Because I will. I’ll feel it like a broken rib, forever and ever. But I can’t- after everything. I’d hate myself even more if something happened and I never told you.”

“ _Steve_.” The anger is all gone now, fleeing to leave Bucky frozen, like Steve’s gaze is a microscope he’s trapped under. He’s shaking, fingers trembling, resting against Steve’s chest. Steve doesn’t even know when he let go of the shirt. “Don’t-”

“You can walk out of this tent and never see me again if that’s what you want. I won’t make you stick around if it’s not what you want too, even when I don’t-” he frowns, shaking his head. “I don’t _feel_ like me when you’re not there. Like I can only be myself when I’m with you.”

“Steve-”

“I _love_ you.” It’s so simple to say it, like it isn’t earth shattering. Hanging between them like… they can’t go back from this. Bucky’s absolutely still, completely silent. Steve _hates_ it. At least when Bucky’s mad, he knows what to expect. This is something entirely new. The quiet makes his stomach twist, makes his mouth start running without his permission, desperate to fill it. “I had to tell you. I can’t keep letting it stagnate, waiting. I had to-”

“Shut up.”

“And I get it if you don’t feel the same. It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend or anything. I just-”

Bucky’s palm clamps over his mouth, silencing him. “You have got a bigger fucking mouth than anyone else I have ever met in my life, Rogers.” Bucky rolls his eyes when Steve licks his hand, the way he did when they were kids. It doesn’t make him reel away in disgust anymore. “Gonna give me a chance to talk now?”

Steve nods.

“Good,” the hand falls away, but not far, resting just against Steve’s shoulder. He’s not sure if he should take it as a good sign or not that Bucky _still_ hasn’t removed himself from Steve’s lap. Doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to put any distance between them now that the truth is out. He’s quiet, so long that Steve almost starts talking again, but then he takes a breath. “You’re an idiot.”

Well. That’s that, then. “I know I am. But it’s not like I was in control of it. I didn’t wake up one morning and think to myself, ‘ _oh I think I’ll fall in love with Bucky_ ’ for kicks. You think I wanted half my life to be consumed by this thing that I’ve had to swallow even when it felt like I was _dying_ with it sometimes? To _know_ I couldn’t say anything for the risk of ruining everything? And now- I never figured it would all end in a tent in the mud in the middle of the war but I figured it would end the moment I spoke. And here we are.”

Bucky’s staring at him, eyes wide and lips parted. Something like awe written all over his face, fascinated and appalled all at once. “You’re so dramatic, Stevie, _god_. Who said anything about ending?”

“You… called me an idiot?” The hope hits, sudden and sharp, surging up the back of Steve’s throat. Bucky is _still_ in his lap, after all. Hasn’t made a single move to separate them. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

“Yeah, dummy. Why the hell do you _think_ I want you at home instead of here?”

“I-” he frowns. “So I’m safe? But you’ve always been like that.”

“Yeah, Steve.” Bucky stares at him flatly. “I have. Half your life, you said? I think I’ve got you beat.”

But then…. Oh. 

“ _Oh._ ”

“Oh,” Bucky echoes, the corners of his lips tipping up finally. His icy fingers come up, pushing Steve’s unruly bangs back from his forehead. No matter how much pomade he styles them back with, they never fail to fall within minutes. Clammy palm against the side of Steve’s face, he presses their foreheads together. “Got anything else you wanna monologue about or can I kiss you now?”

“No, I-” he bites his lower lip, heart in the back of his throat. The world has gone hazy, dreamy almost. Not quite believing this is real or how they ended up here, but he isn’t letting go, not for anything. “Yes. You can.” But because he’s a shit that can’t help pressing Bucky’s buttons, can’t stop himself from treading on every nerve, he follows it up by smugly saying, “Thought you didn’t want me here.”

“I ought to kick you out right now.”

“It’s _my_ tent.”

“Yeah, but we both know everything that’s yours is mine too. Moron.” Bucky’s voice is warm, overflowing with fondness. And finally, finally he tilts his chin, kisses Steve square on the mouth. 

They both freeze, like this is unexpected, like they’ve never kissed anyone in their lives and have no idea what they’re doing. Bucky’s got a tidy growth of stubble now- Steve’s seen him reach for the straight razor in the morning and then flinch away from the blade before he can touch it and someday he’ll ask, but not right now- and it’s scratching against Steve’s chin, his upper lip. He gets the feeling that Bucky’s just now getting hit with that _what if we ruin everything_ fear, the one that’s been eating Steve up since the moment he chose to speak. Even though he’s the one that brought up kissing in the first place. But there’s not a single thing in the world that Bucky could do that would ever make Steve pull away from him, out of the gravity that’s had him orbiting around Bucky like the sun since the moment they met. So he softens his lips, brings one hand up to stroke Bucky’s hair back behind his ear. It’s just long enough to be able to do that- weeks of capture letting it get past regulation. And if he can’t bring himself to touch a razor, Steve very much doubts that he’ll hold still for someone coming at him with scissors. 

Just what it would have taken to cause that… it makes him cold all over, almost sick. But he can’t think about it now- will find time to weep over it later. Right now, he parts his lips just enough to turn the kiss from dry and rough to easy and soft. He drags his mouth against Bucky’s, kisses his wobbling bottom lip, barely touches his tongue to the half healed split on his chapped top lip. 

There’s a half second pause before Bucky reacts, a moment so still he isn’t even breathing, and then he gasps, deep and shuddering and presses himself against Steve like he’s trying to crawl inside his skin and live there. He gets one arm wrapped around the back of Steve’s neck and his fist clenched in the front of his shirt again. Mouth desperate against Steve’s; none of the finesse he’d ever shown the girls he took dancing. This is messy and wild, shaking like he thought he’d never feel anything good again. 

Steve lets him take and take and take, clutching his loose shirt at the waist, giving himself over. He isn’t even sure when they started to lean, Bucky pushing at his chest insistently, until Steve’s back is against the scratchy standard issue bedding and Bucky is draped over him, soft and pliant in contrast. He likes to gripe about Steve’s temper, his short fuse, like he isn’t just as prickly and irritable when he wants to be. But right now, he’s warm and gentle. Hands tracing over every inch of Steve that he can reach, memorizing this new shape of him. When his palm presses over Steve’s heart, beating hard but steady, his breath catches and he breaks the kiss. It’s fully dark in the tent now but they didn’t just fix Steve’s eyesight, they made it inhumanely sharp. So he can see the tears that slip silently down Bucky’s cheeks. Can see the wonder on his face as he stares down at his hand on Steve’s chest. 

“They really fixed it.”

“Yeah. They did.”

Bucky’s hand spasms and he pulls it back, only to lean down and press his ear to the same spot. Steve’s heart, beating just for him, just like always. It just doesn’t trip anymore, doesn’t stutter in his chest or leave him breathless with the sharp sudden pains in his breastbone that had sent him to his knees more than once. It’s strong but it doesn’t beat _too_ hard, trying to keep up with something it wasn’t built to withstand. He hasn’t had a single sleepless night, limbs shaky from an uneven rhythm, from hard thudding in his chest, in his ears, wondering if this is when he finally goes. 

“‘M not dyin’ anymore, Buck. How about that? Safer right here with you then I would have ever been if I’d stayed home and done nothing.”

And Bucky sobs, almost choking on it, tightening his arms around Steve in the dark. They’ll never be able to do this in the light, will always run the risk of someone seeing. But right now, he can cradle Bucky to his chest like something precious, hold him through the desperately relieved, gasping sobs. “I thought I was gonna die there and never see you again,” he admits, voice thick. “I- Steve, I _do_ want you here. Not in the war, just. With me.” 

“I know, Buck.” He rubs circles into the small of Bucky’s back with both of his thumbs, soothing. After everything, Bucky probably needs a little gentleness, a lot of love. And Steve, he’s overflowing with it, has so much of it to give. He wants to take every awful memory that Bucky has and replace them with this. Wants to take away all the hurt and fear and make up for all the years he’s spent making sure Steve is safe and warm and fed by giving all that love back to him tenfold. “I know.”

“ _Thank_ you. For coming to get me out of there.” He turns his face and presses a soft kiss against Steve’s collarbone. “And I don’t hate you, I don’t. I-” The kisses trail up the side of his neck, over his jaw, until he’s kissing Steve softly on the mouth again. He tastes like old coffee and tobacco and it’s gross and perfect and Steve never wants to taste anything else. “You’re…” Bucky pulls back only far enough that the tips of their noses are brushing. Staring at each other in the pitch dark; Steve doesn’t even think Bucky can actually see him, but he’s looking into Steve’s eyes like he can. “You’re in my soul, Steve. And there’s nothing that will ever be able to take you out because I love you. _I love you_. Я люблю тебя, солнышко.”

It’s a rare thing for Bucky to speak Russian to him. He knows Steve barely knows the basics, knows that Steve had struggled trying to pick up his mother language the way that Bucky never had when it came to Steve and Sarah speaking Gaeilge. But Steve doesn’t need to be fluent to understand the meaning behind the words, the reverent love in Bucky’s voice. “In your soul? You’re in mine too. What do you think that makes us?”

Bucky’s mouth curls into a soft smile. “Soulmates, huh? Would’ve been nice to figure it out years ago.” He traces his fingers over the planes of Steve’s face, over his eyelids and down the crooked bridge of his nose. “Can I just… stay here tonight?” He lays back down against Steve’s chest, voice barely a whisper. “I’m just so tired, Steve. I’ll be a soldier again in the morning.”

Steve cards his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Of course, Buck. Of course.”

He isn’t sure what the morning will bring or where they’ll be a week from now. He knows he’ll fight tooth and nail to get Bucky to go home, knows that Bucky won’t, no matter how tired he is. Knows that whatever comes, they’ll face it side by side like they have everything. And if this- the love burning bright between them- is a fickle flame, if it burns out before they get to go home and they ruin everything in the end… at least they’ll have had a marvelous time doing it. 

Who knows if Steve never showed up, what would have been?

**Author's Note:**

> pretty please leave comments if you want i get such a rush from hearing people's opinions of my writing. 
> 
> when bucky's speaking russian he's saying i love you sunshine. and no i will never stop drawing comparisons to steve and the sun because i do what i want!!!!


End file.
